


Sparring Practice

by Sidonie



Series: The King's Squire [5]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidonie/pseuds/Sidonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zahir only begins to relax on the practice field.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparring Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read on its own, but see my fic "Proposal" for an explanation on how this weird, convoluted series works.

It was a sweltering day, the sun hanging high and bright like a test from Mithros himself. The clear blue sky arched overhead, no cloud marring the perfect expanse.

In the practice yard, the king and his squire faced each other, staves in hand. They were breathing heavily, coated in sweat and dust, drooping with weariness.

Jon motioned listlessly at the circle sketched in the earth. “Come, another bout,” he said.

“What's the point?” Zahir gasped, bracing his hands on his knees. “We're both tired out.”

“You still haven't managed to hit me,” the king retorted. “Do it this time and I'll give you the night free.”

This got the youth's attention, and he straightened slowly. “You're on, old man.”

Jon simply grinned and stepped into the circle. He met Zahir's first lunge with ease, using the motion of the block to trap his staff against the ground and drive an elbow into his squire's ribs.

“You have to be faster than that!” he taunted.

The next blow swept up and under, very nearly catching him off-guard. He blocked that one and the next, barely deflecting the quick jab that followed. Zahir moved lightly, his footsteps too sudden for Jon to follow. A sideswipe, a twisting maneuver meant to disarm, and a forceful overhead strike were all brushed aside by the king, who defended himself with the economy and grace of experience.

Finally, he saw an opening and leaped forward, going on the offensive. The first blow sent his squire staggering back. The second connected squarely with the staff such that it slipped from Zahir's sweat-slicked hands and flew backward, hitting him across the forehead and knocking him clean off his feet. He hit the earth in a cloud of dust and sprawled there, blinking up at the pitiless sun.

“Are you all right?” Jon asked.

Zahir snorted, then gave a broad, rueful smile, dissolving into helpless laughter. “Oh gods!” he gasped. “I made a mess of that, didn't I?”

Jon couldn't help but chuckle. “Yes, a bit.”

His squire shook with mirth, teeth flashing white in his dark face. It was the first time his knight-master had seen a genuine smile from his charge, and it gave him hope. Perhaps they could get along after all.


End file.
